FAKKU Writers' Lounge

When Morgan was sarcastic he was lighthearted, and he tilted his head to the right and looked at the ceiling. It was always right and never left. He avoided the gaze of whoever he was talking to and she always felt that it was because he was looking down on them, for what better way to insult someone other than to belittle them verbally and deny them the opportunity to say something back? It was a message of obnoxiousness, one that radiated confidence in the self, saying that Morgan was right when he was right and when someone contested that, they’d be talking to themselves, because he didn’t need to put up his hand to spread the message.

It was irresistible for her to look at him at these times. When his smirk became a sneer and his laugh was derisive, dismissive to anyone’s opinion that he didn’t agree with, she would hang out of her seat if she were sitting down. But she never enjoyed sitting by Morgan for the same reason she barely ever spoke to him. She knew that she’d have nothing to say if she was on the receiving end of one of his criticisms and so when he entered the vicinity, even the room by opening the door, she’d stand up and move around, avoiding him like a dog would a vacuum.

And yet, she was the only one that seemed to mind his behavior. He was the intelligent one in their group. With cutting words and an encyclopedia of knowledge that anyone could tap into with just a question. No one ever called him on the way he acted, certainly not her. But between the two of them they were quite disconnected, as they only spoke with each other in passing greetings and he’d ignore her when she jogged around the room, sometimes sending an annoying glance from the corner of his eye when she was near his sides, but never turning around to looking forward to see her.

Being the only one who had never been criticized by him, she was the most insecure. Her friends, even the ones that weren’t his, were desensitized somewhat, and those they shared were as responsive as a rock, but as reciprocating as Morgan himself, for it seemed that some of his wit had rubbed off on them over time. She remained static, she was the rock. Sometimes she thought of herself as a reasonably sized pebble in a small stream going down the hill, with only her weight keeping her down and unmoving. If she was a pebble she feared Morgan would be the child who liked to play in the rain and splash in the water, kicking everything in his sight. From jumping off the curb, or finishing discussing a subject she had never heard of with one of their friends, he’d jump the stream and punt her down the hill, or petrify her with judgment.

So, like many typical teenage girls, she sought to be perfect. She was warm and kind and a wonderful friend, and everyone loved her for it. She was the one everyone went to when they needed hugs and reassurance, and Morgan was the one they went to when they needed a good hard kick in the butt and a reality check. She gave out drinks and snacks even when not at her house, and he kept the conversation moving when it hit a lull. When scary movies were on she’d scream… and he’d curse.